


Disaster

by paperstorm



Series: Deleted Scenes [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-05
Updated: 2011-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:24:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperstorm/pseuds/paperstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lot of things are still up in the air right now but the one thing Dean knows absolutely for sure is that they Don't. Talk. About. That. Tag for 'Skin', 1x6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> Contains dialogue from the episode 'Skin', it belongs to Eric Kripke and John Shiban.  
> 

Dean blinks a few times blearily, trying to clear his fuzzy vision but the pounding behind his eyes won’t let him. Where ever he is it’s dark, and humid and cold, he thinks he can hear water dripping but he isn’t sure. He closes his eyes again, moaning as he tries to move his arms and realizes he’s tied up. Fuckin’ Shifter must’ve got him, he must be back in the sewers. He doesn’t remember anything after he and Sam split up to look for the creature, but he can’t move more than a few inches in either direction and his head’s throbbing so much it feels like it’s being cleaved in two. They should learn to never separate, he thinks bitterly, struggling in vain against his bonds. Shitty stuff like this always happens when they do.  
   
“Welcome back,” a thick, gravelly voice says, and Dean’s eyes snap open so fast he gets dizzy all over again. There’s a figure over in the corner; it’s mostly hidden by the shadows, but Dean knows that voice. His gut tightens in an overwhelming sense of dread.  
   
“Son of a bitch,” he mutters.  
   
The figure steps into the light and Dean’s greeted by the nauseating sight of his own face, his own piercing green eyes, his own lips curled into a smug grin.  
   
“Well that’s officially the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he declares, more to himself than to the Shifter but probably not managing to fool either of them with his false-bravado.  
   
“Then you should have a higher opinion of yourself,” the Shifter comments in Dean’s sandpaper drawl, clicking his tongue in fake sympathy. “That last body I was in, dude was out of shape. I almost didn’t manage to get away from you two. But _this_ one, I like.”  
   
“Where’s Sam?” Dean snaps.  
   
“And handsome too,” it continues, ignoring Dean’s question but tossing him a wink. “That is _such_ a commodity in my line of work. You have no idea how much _easier_ it is for me when I look like someone like you. People’ll see this fine piece of ass and they’ll let me right in the front door. You humans are so superficial.”  
   
“I _said_ , where’s Sam?” Dean growls. He is _not_ interested in playing games with this asshole.  
   
“Oh don’t worry, he’s fine. He’s still up there,” the shifter nods up toward the street above them, “looking for me. He’s not gonna find me, though, is he? He’s gonna find you. And then we’re gonna go back to that mid-life-crisis-mobile you’re driving and have some _fun_.”  
   
Dean’s blood runs cold. “I swear to god, if you touch one hair on his head – ”  
   
“I won’t. _You_ will.” It twits Dean’s face into an ugly sneer. “And he’s going to let you. Because there is _nothing_ that pretty little brother of yours wouldn’t do for you. Is there?”  
   
It winks again and Dean opens his mouth to protest, but then the mirror image of his own hands pick up a thick, lead pipe and it’s the last thing he sees before it all goes black.  
   
____  
   
“Sorry, man,” Dean starts quietly.  
   
Sam looks at him curiously “About what?”  
   
“I really wish things could be different, you know?” He shrugs a little and readjusts himself on the leather seat. “I wish you could just be … Joe College.”  
   
Sam grins. “Nah, it’s okay. You know, truth is, even at Stanford, deep down I never really fit in.”  
   
“Well that’s ‘cause you’re a freak,” Dean says frankly, smirking.  
   
“Yeah.” Sam huffs a laugh. “Thanks.”  
   
“But I’m a freak too. I’m right there with you all the way.” He smiles over at Sam, and Sam offers him a small but real smile in return.  
   
“Yeah, I know you are.”  
   
“You know, I gotta say, I’m sorry I’m gonna miss it,” Dean comments.  
   
“Miss what?”  
   
“How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?”  
   
Sam chuckles a little and shakes his head, giving Dean his fond you’re-an-idiot look, and then slouching down in his seat and falling silent. He stays quiet for the rest of the drive, and Dean doesn’t say anything else either. He figures it’s been a tough couple of days for him, and sometimes Sam needs some time to decompress after a particularly trying hunt so Dean leaves him to it. By the time they get to a motel a few towns over, Sam still hasn’t said a word, and Dean’s starting to worry just a little bit. He saw a look on Sam’s face when they were at his friend’s house, one he hasn’t seen since Sam was a teenager but is still all too familiar with. It’s the same way Sam used to look at other families they’d see in a diner; _whole_ families with a mom, and a dad who smiled, and kids who complained about homework and soccer practice and got in trouble for kicking each other under the table. Sam used to stare at them, longingly, like he wanted more than anything to belong to them. It used to break Dean’s heart.  
   
Dean gets them a room and unloads the bags, while Sam sinks down onto the edge of one of the beds and stares into space. He looks sad and lost and it’s less than five minutes before Dean gives in and goes to sit beside him. Sam startles a little, like he’d momentarily forgotten Dean was still there, and then he laughs shakily and smiles, but it’s not a real smile this time. It’s small and forced, and it doesn’t even come close to reaching his eyes.  
   
“You wanna tell me what’s up with you?” Dean asks gently.  
   
“What do you mean?”  
   
“You’ve been weird since we left Becky’s house. Look, I know things got a little rough back there, but we saved her, man, we cleared her brother’s name. This one had a happy ending, we should be celebrating.”  
   
“I don’t know. I just … I miss it sometimes.”  
   
“You miss what?” Dean asks cautiously. He’s pretty sure he knows where this is going and he’s really dreading having this conversation. Mostly because he’s painfully aware that there isn’t anything he could do or say to make Sam feel any better.  
   
“School, my friends, all of it.” Sam sighs and scratches the side of his nose. “I know I didn’t fit in there, not really. But it was just nice for a while, you know? Not being so anonymous for a change, staying in one place for more than a week at a time. Having a bunch of people who cared about me.”  
   
“I care about you,” Dean points out. It comes out sounding more sullen than he means it to – when Sam talks like this, all those old feelings of inadequacy come rushing back. Dean instantly feels like he did back when Sam first left; hurt and lonely and stuck wondering what he could’ve done differently to make him stay. Wondering why he wasn’t good enough to keep him.  
   
“I, god, I know you do,” Sam says quickly, eyebrows stitching together in a frown. “That’s not what I meant, I … damn it. I’m sorry.”  
   
He leans over and buries his face in his hands. Dean doesn’t know what to say. He’s always taken great pride in his ability to be there for Sam, but he doesn’t know how this time. He hates it, but there isn’t anything he can do to fix this.  
   
“Okay,” he says after a long moment. “Then … I guess I’ll just … yeah.” He shifts, intending to go rummage through his duffle bag in a ruse of giving Sam some space, but Sam stops him short with a tiny, whispered word.  
   
“Don’t.”  
   
Dean turns back to his brother – he’s still staring resolutely at the carpet, but his eyes are wide and shining with unshed tears. He looks so small and desperate, like he’s silently begging Dean to make it better, and Dean would cut off his own arm before he’d refuse Sam anything when he looks like that.  
   
“I’m so sorry, Sammy,” he mumbles, almost sick to his stomach with how hopelessly insufficient he feels. “You … this shouldn’t have happened it you.”  
   
“Guess I should’ve been expecting it, huh?” Sam asks dejectedly.  
   
“What? Why?” Dean leans down a little, trying to catch a glimpse of Sam’s face in the shadows.  
   
Sam doesn’t answer, though, so Dean doesn’t push. They sit quietly for a few long, agonizingly slow minutes. Dean clears his throat to break the tension and it’s so loud it’s almost deafening in the thick silence.  
   
“What did the Shifter say to you?” Dean asks softly, because he can’t stand them just sitting there and not saying anything. Sam’s okay, so obviously the thing didn’t end up getting to have whatever ‘fun’ with him it was taunting Dean with, at least not physically anyway. But Dean knows better than anyone, sometimes the psychological stuff is worse.  
   
Sam shrugs. “It said a lot of stuff. It was just trying to get in my head, right? S’what they do.”  
   
Dean nods a little. “Yeah. But you said it was downloading my thoughts and stuff. I mean that … I’m sure that wasn’t nice. Hearing it say all that stuff with my face.”  
   
“It was awful,” Sam admits in a barely-there whisper. “Didn’t say anything I didn’t already know, though. Just how much you resent me for leaving.”  
   
“I … I don’t,” Dean protests, but it’s weak and he knows Sam won’t buy it.  
   
“Yeah, you do,” Sam argues, smiling sadly. “It’s okay, you don’t have to pretend you’re not pissed about all this. It’s my fault, I know it is. If I’d never left, none of this would’ve happened. Jess would still be alive, and you’d … well.” He trails off, shrugging one shoulder and sniffing.  
   
Dean exhales heavily and digs his fingers into his throbbing temples. “Okay, that might be true, but it doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”  
   
Sam shrugs again, so down-trodden it’s painful to even look at. Dean’s arms twitch with the urge to reach over and hug his despondent frame, but he holds back. Sam would probably just push him away anyway, and the sting of rejection is the last thing Dean needs to feel right now on top of everything else the last few days have thrown at him.  
   
“Did you miss me?” Sam asks quietly, like he’s actually unsure about it, and Dean almost rolls his eyes.  
   
“Don’t be stupid. Of course I did.”  
   
“I missed you like crazy. For the first little while, it hurt so bad it was like I couldn’t breathe. I know I never called or anything but …” Sam heaves a sigh and runs a shaky hand through his hair. “It was ‘cause I knew if I heard your voice, I’d cave and come home.”  
   
Dean nods, chewing at his bottom lip because he has no idea how to respond to that. He doesn’t know why Sam’s telling him all this; doesn’t know what his brother wants in return. Sam seems really wounded right now, even more so than he has been up until this point, and Dean isn’t sure he completely understands what’s going on. He feels like somewhere along the way he missed a step – he starts to wonder if maybe the Shifter did say something to Sam, something worse than what he’s admitted. The last thing in the _world_ either of them needed this week was a creature taking on his form and spilling all of his deepest, darkest secrets to Sam. Dean’s trying not to dwell on it, because it’s over and there’s nothing he can do about it now, but there are lots of things going on in his head that he never wants Sam to know about.  
   
“How, um,” Sam pauses and frowns, fidgeting uncomfortably. “How long was it after I left before you were … you know, with … anyone. Else.”  
   
For half a second Dean honestly doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but then it hits him with the weight of an anvil falling on his chest. He’s pretty sure his heart actually stops for a few beats. They … they don’t talk about that. A lot of things are still up in the air right now but the one thing Dean knows absolutely for sure is that they Don’t. Talk. About. That. Except that now Sam’s brought it up, and it’s hanging there in the air between them like a loud, spinning sign with lights and sirens that they couldn’t ignore if they tried. They’ve both done a pretty perfect job in the last few weeks of looking the other way and pretending all that doesn’t exist, and whether or not it’s a healthy way to deal with things, it’s been working for Dean. But now the illusion’s been shattered, the curtain’s been pulled back, and Dean’s skin is crawling and his stomach is doing that flippy thing like he’s falling.  
   
“I … I don’t remember,” he says truthfully. His voice is tight and pinched and it doesn’t sound like his own, but he can barely hear it anyway over the pounding in his head. He silently wills Sam to drop it, but of course Sam doesn’t.  
   
“Do you ever think about it? About me?”  
   
Dean isn’t sure how it happens exactly, whether his levees finally break under all the weight or if there’s just something deeply, psychologically wrong with him and it chooses that moment to come spilling out, but he just snaps. After _everything_ else this hunt threw at him, after how violated he feels that a creature got into his head and heard all his thoughts and cut up some poor girl while wearing his face, Sam’s words are just too damn much to handle.  
   
“Do I ever _think_ about it?” he repeats icily.  
   
“Dean,” Sam starts timidly but Dean jumps up wildly and cuts him off.  
   
“No!” he snaps. “Do I ever _think about it_?! What is the matter with you?! Of _course_ I think about it, I think about it every god damn day! Because you’re _here_ all the god damn time! Do you have any _idea_ how hard it is to be around you all the time again and not be able to touch you?”  
   
“I didn’t – ”  
   
“I was good without you! I mean, I wasn’t _happy_ but I was okay!” Dean rants. “I had it all figured out, I was managing just fine on my own! And now you’re, shit, you’re always there in the next bed and you’re in my car and your fuckin’ scent is all over my clothes! You’re in my _head_! And it’s driving me nuts but I’ve been keeping it all inside ‘cause I know you’re dealing with enough right now without my issues piling on top of everything else, because I’m trying to be there for you, I’m running myself into the ground trying to be a good brother! And you have the fuckin’ _nerve_ to ask me if I ever think about you?!”  
   
“Just, stop! I’m sorry, okay?” Sam yells, his face flushed and his eyes big and bright as he stands up and squares off against Dean. “I shouldn’t have even brought this up, god, I take it back! It wasn’t exactly fun seeing Becky again, I’ve been trying really hard to get over all this shit with Jess but being back around those people just brought everything back, so my head’s a little messed up right now! I’m sorry I’m such a damn burden on you, but it’s not like I chose to be back here with you! The choice was kind of taken away from me when my fucking girlfriend burst into flames on the freakin’ ceiling! Which happened because I wasn’t there to protect her because I was off with _you_ , looking for our asshole of a father!”  
   
“I didn’t know any of that was gonna happen!” Dean shouts. “When we drove away from your apartment I honestly thought I’d be dropping you off again in a few days! So it’s too bad you hate being with me so much, but you know what, things didn’t work out the way I was planning either! I thought we’d find Dad right away, I thought I’d get you back in time for that damn interview and that’d be the end of it! But that’s not what happened, so what the hell do you want me to do?”  
   
“Well I’m sorry this is all so hard on _you_ ,” Sam spits sarcastically. “I lost my home, I lost the person I love, my whole _life_ got turned upside down in thirty seconds!”  
   
“And you think mine didn’t?!” Dean returns angrily. “I went from being completely independent to having a permanent fucking room-mate who also happens to be the little brother I used to sleep with! Do you think that’s been easy on me?! And you’ve been so sad and I’ve been so focused on worrying about _you_ that I haven’t had a second to myself to work out how I feel about all this! We went from not seeing each other _at all_ to being around each other twenty-four fucking seven, so excuse me if I haven’t figured out how to handle it yet!”  
   
“So what, what are you saying?” Sam asks. “You want me to leave? Is it really that horrible having me around all the time?”  
   
“No, fuck, of course I don’t want you to leave!” Dean counters, his voice going croaky as he edges on desperation. “I don’t know what I’m saying! Everything’s so friggin’ messed up right now, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about any of this! I don’t know how to find Dad, I don’t know what to do about you, I’m really struggling here, Sam!”  
   
Sam presses his lips together and shakes his head a few times, eyes sparkling again with tears he refuses to let fall.  
   
“God, and the way you look at me sometimes, it just kills me!” Dean barrels on, the words tearing out of his chest like something feral and completely out of his control. Sam always did have that effect on him. Half a second’s glance from his little brother is all it takes sometimes to rip down the walls Dean’s so carefully constructed around himself. “It’s like you’re six years old again and you just fell off your bike or something and you’re sitting there begging me to make it better, but I can’t! This isn’t a skinned knee that I can just put a band-aid on and then tell you some stupid joke to make you forget about it!”  
   
The expression on Sam’s face looks like he’s about to either burst into tears or punch Dean in the face, but he still doesn’t say anything so Dean doesn’t even bother trying to hold back.  
   
“I don’t _know_ how to help you this time! Can you even _imagine_ what that feels like for me?” he yells, gesturing animatedly with his hands while he shouts. “I’m your big brother, it’s my job to take care of you and I can’t! All I can do is stand here and watch you drown! And I hate it! I hate that all this happened to you, I hate that it might be my fault, and I hate that I can’t fix it!”  
   
The last thing in the world Dean expected to happen next was suddenly getting an armful of Sam, but before he can even take a breath he’s being shoved backwards a few steps, colliding forcefully with the wall. His head snaps back and connects painfully with the drywall, and he opens his mouth to protest the assault but his words get lost when Sam swoops down and kisses him, rough and fierce and _hard_. Dean’s beyond shocked, he’s _stunned_ ; everything moving in slow motion but somehow way too fast at the same time, his whole body going numb and his thought-processes skidding to an abrupt halt as his mind clouds over. For a while, a lot longer than he probably should, Dean just stands there, frozen and completely astounded and not even totally sure what’s happening. Sam’s lips plunder his, fast and desperate, his hands wrapped tightly around Dean’s wrists and pinning him to the wall. Dean’s heart jack-rabbits against his ribcage and he struggles to breathe, chocking on his own air and finally snapping back to himself when Sam’s tongue slips into his mouth.  
   
“What are you doing?!” he splutters, wrenching his arms out of Sam’s grip and shoving him back.  
   
Sam only lets up for enough time for Dean to notice there are tears in his eyes, and then he’s back, pressing his body up against Dean’s and attaching his lips to Dean’s neck.  
   
“No, stop!” Dean cries, but he doesn’t push Sam away this time. He meant to, but his arms have stopped working. They shouldn’t be doing this, Dean knows that, but _fuck_ , Sam still knows all of Dean’s weak spots, and his tongue just below Dean’s ear is shutting his brain right down, even as it struggles to remind him of why he should be stopping this.  
   
“Please,” Sam whispers, words slurred wetly into Dean’s skin. “Missed you so much, please Dean.”  
   
“Sammy,” Dean whispers back, a desperate plea in a last-ditch effort to stop this from happening. They can’t do this, Dean wants to so damn much but he _can’t_ , it’ll just make everything worse when they wake up tomorrow and realize it was a mistake. But Sam ignores him, stubborn little fucker, and gets one of his legs in between Dean’s so he can push his thigh up against Dean’s crotch and rock into him. “Fuck,” Dean mutters, groaning at the friction on his suddenly rock-hard cock.  
   
Sam’s everywhere, his hips grinding against Dean’s, his big, warm hands pushing up under Dean’s shirt and digging bruises into Dean’s lower back with strong fingertips, his lips and teeth dragging over Dean’s collarbone, his messy hair right in Dean’s face so Dean would barely even have to turn his head for his nose to be buried in it. He smells so good from this close, so familiar and comforting, and as much as every inch of common-sense Dean has is screaming at him to stop this, to shove Sam off him again and read him the riot act, he still can’t deny how _good_ if feels to have Sam up against him. It’s like a war inside his own head, half of him shouting to put an end to this before they both get hurt and the other half urging him to take what he’s wanted every day since Sam left. And his heart’s in on it too, it clenches painfully with the need to have Sam like this again, like he did back before everything went wrong; when the world could be crumbling around them but one touch from his beautiful little brother could make everything okay again. His whole body _aches_ for Sam and it’s conspiring against him and he’s pretty quickly loosing the ability to keep from giving in.  
   
He finally gets his arms working again, and he grabs Sam’s head and lifts it up so he can see Sam’s face. He looks wary for a second, like he’s expecting Dean to hit him and start yelling at him, and that’s exactly what Dean _should_ be doing, but he doesn’t. Fuck it, if everything’s even more messed up because of this, then Dean’ll deal with that tomorrow. Right now he just _wants_ , and he’s been holding himself back for too long to be anywhere near strong enough to fight it anymore. He pulls Sam’s face down and kisses him, animalistic and scorching hot, and Sam moans and rocks harder into Dean. He’s hard too, Dean can feel it pressing against his hip and that’s the last straw – his resistance completely shatters and he pulls Sam in impossibly closer, delving his tongue into Sam’s mouth and bucking against him like a horny teenager. Sam gets a good grip on Dean’s sides and he grinds into him, slowly and thoroughly, rolling his hips in purposeful thrusts and sending sparks of pleasure trilling up and down Dean’s spine like a zipline.  
   
“Missed you too, fuck, so much baby boy,” Dean babbles into Sam’s mouth, and Sam moans even louder at the term of endearment Dean hasn’t spoken out loud in years, not since the last time they were together like this, the night before Sam left for Stanford.  
   
He kisses down Dean’s jawline, nipping occasionally and when he gets to Dean’s ear he sucks the lobe into his mouth and drags his teeth over it. He’s still in constant motion, just as frantic and desperate as Dean is; he drags his hands up and down Dean’s chest, digging his blunt nails in. Dean slides his own hands down Sam’s back, getting a feel for him even as his head spins, and _fuck_ , Sam’s really filled out since the last time Dean got to touch him like this. Dean has the sudden urge to get Sam naked just so he can see him, see all that newly-muscled flesh Sam’s been hiding under baggy hoodies, but then Sam shoves one hand into Dean’s pants without pretense and wraps his fingers around Dean’s dick, and any other thoughts evaporate right out of Dean’s head. He slams his head back against the wall and lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched noise, almost swallowing his own tongue in the process. Son of a _bitch_ , that’s good.  
   
“Shit, Sammy,” he breathes, as Sam works his cock quickly and just shy of too-rough, kissing him deeply and humming into his mouth.  
   
Dean tries to get a hand into Sam’s jeans so he can reciprocate, but Sam bats his hand away, growling a little and sinking his teeth into Dean’s bottom lip. Dean’s never heard Sam make that noise before, Sam was always more bashful and quietly sexy in bed than outright predatory, and that in itself should probably be some kind of red flag but Dean’s vision is blurring out and he’s light headed and he can’t concentrate on anything other than how perfect Sam’s hand feels on him. It’s been way too long since he’s had any kind of contact like this from anyone other than himself, and the fact that it’s _Sam_ , that he’s getting Sam like this again after all this time, it’s more than Dean can even process all at once. He’s dangerously close to the edge entirely too quickly but he’s so far out of control that he couldn’t hold back even if he wanted to. He comes with a harsh cry, coating Sam’s hand and filling the inside of his boxers with sticky heat, his head spinning so much he might have actually blacked out for a second.  
   
When he comes back down, Sam’s slumped against him, head buried in Dean’s shoulder. Dean lifts his lead-heavy arms up to wrap around Sam’s sweaty back, rubbing one up and down over the damp material of his shirt. They don’t move for a few long minutes, and Dean deliriously drinks in the smell of _them_ and the sweltering heat of Sam wrapped around him like an electric blanket. It’s _good_ , it’s everything he spent way too many years without and he sighs happily and soaks it up, lets it seep through his skin and sink down right into his marrow and fill him up with a billowing sense of _hope_ – like maybe everything really will be okay now.  
   
But of course, because he’s a god damn Winchester and nothing is ever allowed to go right in his life, it doesn’t last. Sam shifts a little and Dean realizes he’s still hard, so he reaches for the button on his jeans but Sam pushes his hand away again.  
   
“Don’t,” he rasps.  
   
Dean’s still riding the pleasure-high so he’s confused; Sam pulls away from him and stumbles a few steps backward, eyes glued to the wall beside Dean’s head, refusing to meet his concerned gaze.

“I … oh god,” Sam mumbles, pressing the back of his hand into his mouth, his face  screwing up in obvious misery. “I’m sorry, I … shit. I’m sorry.”

Before Dean has a second to wrap his head around what’s happening, Sam’s already staggered to the bathroom and shut the door, and Dean hears the rusty squeak of nozzles being turned and the splatter of water in what he assumes must be the shower – the noise from the steady spray is loud in the quiet room but it’s not quite loud enough to drown out the soft, desperate sound of Sam crying. Dean’s stomach churns so much he frantically reaches for the waste-basket and doubles over, expecting to throw up, but even though he retches a few times nothing comes up. Hot tears spill from his own eyes, trailing down his burning cheeks and he wipes at them furiously but they won’t stop. Without even bothering to clean himself up, Dean grabs the keys to the Impala and all but runs out of the room. There probably isn’t enough alcohol in the entire world to make him feel any better right now, but he’s more than willing to find out. And either way, he’s sure as hell not staying here.


End file.
